


Walk With(out) Me

by PeriPeriwinkle



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sadstuck, Zombie apocalipse AU, Zombiestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3938098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeriPeriwinkle/pseuds/PeriPeriwinkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The zombie apocalypse has taken its toll on all of you - but especially on Jake, whose arm was ripped off in cold blood after he got bit. But that didn't work as expected: Jake was partially infected with the virus, meaning he inherited the mindless hunger for flesh but was still lucid. He talked and walked and understood everything around him whenever he wasn't fighting with his mindless craving for meat.</p><p>It was heartbreaking to watch, but Dirk couldn't just put his best friend out of his misery, knowing fully well that he was still alive. Still fighting.</p><p>Still the love of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk With(out) Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Walk](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/115411) by Kazethecursedone. 



> This fic is something I wrote, following up the second chapter of the fic [Walk](http://kazethecursedone.tumblr.com/post/48267942171/walk) ([Walk part two](http://my-friend-the-frog.tumblr.com/post/52517684388/walk-part-two)), written by [kazethecursedone](http://kazethecursedone.tumblr.com) and based on [my-friend-the-frog](my-friend-the-frog)'s Zombiestuck AU.
> 
> It's obviously a fan work of what I imagined would happen after the second part of the fic, which I only recently realized was never posted, so here you go. :) I hope you enjoy it~
> 
>  
> 
> \--

“I want to go to sleep.”

“Don’t say that.” You reply hoarsely, fingers tightening into a fist in your lap. You’ve been stalling, dreading leaving Jake’s side, but you have to. You know soon enough he’ll complain about hunger, and you’ll have to scavenge for more rotting bodies, since you’re – again – all out of meat. But you’re tired, muscles aching, eyelids drooping. It’s hard to stay coherent, to think straight when you’re so exhausted. You look up at Jake through the foggy glass, and he shakes his head.

“Not like that, mate. The literal way. I want to sleep, I’m... I’m too tired and I can’t sleep for long anymore. It’s awful.”

“Ah. Yeah. Yeah, I’ve noticed.” You say, scratching your chin. Your beard has grown a lot, but you can’t find it in you to shave. Too afraid of cutting yourself; lately your hands have only been stable enough to light the fire for Jane and Roxy and to butcher the meat you bring. Nothing else.

“You know that, um, pharmacy... the one that is close by?”

“Why?” you ask, and Jake sighs loudly before continuing.

“I remember…” and he looks down, probably at his hand, and his shoulders rise and fall slowly with his breathing. You keep staring at the dirty glass, patiently waiting for him to form the sentence he wants to say, to keep talking. It’s the most he’s said to you in weeks and you (almost) feel happy. “My grandmother. She had a sleeping pill. For those nights when the monsters were too loud and scared the living jebezus out of me.” You chuckle humorlessly at his choice of words, but he doesn’t even quirk a grin. It’s terrible to see him like this, caked with blood and dust and grime; he can’t clean himself any more than you can, and sometimes you worry he’ll get an infection like this, the question of _if_ he can even get infections in his state one of the things you’d rather not give too much thought on. “It conked me out almost immediately, and I... I remember that, one night, when grandma was out, I took two pills instead of one, because the roars were so loud I thought one just wouldn’t do the trick. Slept for almost two days straight. Really did. Almost couldn’t wake up either.”

You think about what Jake just told you. In all honesty you’ve been wondering about ways on how to diminish his appetite. The quantity of dead bodies around the premises is thinning worryingly, and you don’t know how far you’ll have to go once the nearby areas are completely clean. How much you’ll be able to carry back here, depending on how far you go. For how long you’ll be able to walk with the weight of half a dozen corpse in your arms as you pull the makeshift cart you built – which is, in reality, just a huge board of wood with four wheels attached to it, a thick rope tied around on the front. Jake isn’t able to feel the mindless hunger the disease gives him when he’s asleep, and honestly, you doubt he can get much worse than the state he’s in right now. There’s also the question of whether the medicines will affect him, since painkillers doesn’t seem to work so well, but right now it’s only a matter of trying. After a minute or two of silence, you nod, looking back at Jake, serious and decided.

“Tell me the med’s name and I’ll go get it for you.”

\---

Unsurprisingly, the pharmacy was loaded with the sleeping pills – not many people felt like sleeping after the apocalypse started, apparently. First you filled your bag with boxes, then changed your mind and removed the cardboard structures, carelessly spilling the crinkly pill packs inside your duffel bag. Soon enough you were opening the last box, and on a second thought smashed it in your hands so it was only a flat piece of cardboard. You did the same with at least half of the pile behind you, shoving them in with the pills, thinking they could be good for a pillow or something once they were cut up and stuffed inside a pillowcase.

The second bag you brought was filled with supplies that were running thin inside your fort, like cold medicines, cotton balls, painkillers and band-aids, and some other stuff that your group haven’t seen nor used in a really long while – new toothbrushes, toothpaste, liquid and bar soap, menstrual pads for the girls, razors and shaving cream for you, shampoos and oils and even empty baby bottles that could be used to store food, things you deemed unnecessary back when you didn’t know just how much you’d miss it – since the useful stuff, like disinfectants and bandages, had run out a long time ago.

In a last and quick inspection you saw a sign with big neon numbers advertising the price of a frilly necessaire. Inside it you found the essential tools to take care of your nails, ranging from colorful polishes to sharp cuticle clippers. You pulled the sign off of it and stuffed two brand new packs of nail files inside your bag before strapping it, now full and almost overflowing, over your shoulders, the pink necessaire dangling from your wrist as you left the pharmacy. You walked back to your fort alongside Roxy, who was waiting for you outside and eyed the fashion adornment with curiosity before shrugging and deciding not to say anything.

The first thing she did, however, once you got back, was file her nails and paint them with a pink, shimmering color as Jade worked on her own toes.

You cleaned and painted your own as well, with sparkly orange and a thin layer of silver glitter. Jake laughed when he saw it, shortly before the sleeping medicine kicked in and he passed out, a faint smile on his filthy lips.

\---

“You think he’ll ever go back to normal?” Jane whispers quietly beside you.

When you look up, she’s staring longingly at Jake’s face while she wipes the dirt away with a lufa soaked in a mix of water and antibacterial soap. Giving him two pills is enough to knock him out for pretty much all day, so after a whole week of testing the waters you and Jane decided to risk being near him for the first time in months, scrubbing at his skin in a way he couldn’t do it by himself anymore, not without one arm.

She looks up at you, and it hits you that she actually wants an answer.

You don’t have one, and she knows it, but it’s almost like she _needs_ your words to reassure her you’ll be alright.

“I don’t know.” You finally admit, and the look she gives you is sad and helpless, like she’s _pleading_ you to say something positive, but you can’t. You can’t lie to yourself, much less to her. “The only thing that gives me hope is the fact that the virus hasn’t spread all the way through Jake’s body, since he’s still lucid and rational.  But. I don’t know if we’ll ever find a cure. If anyone will. I don’t know.”

It’s the awful truth that no one yet had the courage to admit out loud, and Jane sighs, continuing her work in silence. You two stripped Jake off his ragged clothes, unashamed of his naked body, too worried about the state he was in to worry about his anatomy. You two scrub, wipe and rub, and while Jane picks at his raven hair and carefully shaves his face, the sharp razor sliding across the white foam she’d applied, you pay very close attention to his stump, finally removing the filthy cloth of your hoodie off of it, revealing the already healing flesh underneath. It makes your stomach twist, to see the sliced bone and the mangled muscle, and it takes all your willpower not to puke. Jane avoids looking as well, concentrating on applying aftershave over Jake’s cheeks and chin as gently as possible. Jake was the one used to bullet wounds and deep scabs. Jake was the one who used to take care of your worse injuries. Not you. Definitely not you, you think as your fingers run over the wound, carefully applying a healing cream before wrapping it in proper bandages, hoping this will be enough for the wound to heal completely. Afterwards you lather your hands in baby oil, rubbing at his muscles with firm and steady movements as Jane tends to his nails, and together you dress him up in clean clothes, tucking him back inside his bean bag.

Jane thanked you afterwards, when you were gathered around the fire. You know the girls were both against keeping Jake alive, at first, but you know that killing him off in the state he’s in wouldn’t do much good to any of you either. Jake hasn’t vocalized the wish to die yet, but you swear when he mentioned wanting to sleep a really cold shiver ran through you as you imagined Jake, lying on the floor, your kataka stuck in his forehead like one of the random zombies you kill in an almost daily basis.

Jake wakes up, hungry and irrational, but the blindness of his disease is immediately gone once he notices what’s different about him, what feels wrong when in reality it should feel right. You’re right there by the newly clean bulletproof glass, watching intently as he runs his fingers through his hair, slides his palm over his face, brings his arm to his nose and sniffs, looks at his stump and sees where you tied a knot and cut off the sleeve so it wouldn’t hang uselessly on his side. Immediately he looks at you, his green eyes milky white but wide and focused, jaw hanging with incredulousness.

“Did you...?” he asks, hand against the glass, breath fogging it up, and you grin, the movement not forced for a change.

“Me and Jane did.” You answer, and his eyes widen even further. “We did it right after you bonked out, didn’t even stir the wrong way. I hope you’re not upset or anything.”

“No, I...!” and he looks down, hand undoing his pants and pulling his trousers and underpants a little forward, staring inside. “Holy boogers, you _bathed_ me!”

“Sorry, bro.” you shrug, but his head snaps up rapidly, and he shakes his head so fast you’re afraid his glasses will go flying off of his nose.

“No, no, nonononono! Don’t apologize, I...!” He lets go of his pants and fists the front of his shirt, eyes watering a little. “I... don’t know what to say, actually. I really appreciate it. You have no idea how much I...” A pause, and he swallows, looking back to you once again, voice low and careful. “Do, do you have a mirror?”

The glass reflects his image a little, but it makes sense he’d prefer to look at the real thing. You nod and tell him you’ll be right back, taking the mirror you use to brush your teeth. When you place it in front of the glass, his eyes widen; it’s the first time he’s seen himself since he was bitten, and you see the way his brows furrow, his bottom lip trembling as his hand slowly rises, as if he’s reaching forward to try and touch his reflection.

“My... eyes...” he murmurs, and you nod.

“They’ve been like that since... since you fell on top of me, that day.”

‘Fell.’ Ha. What a joke. Both you and Jake know he downright attacked you, and he looks at you, eyes drifting from the mirror. He closes his mouth, gulps, and nods.

“Yeah, I... yeah. You can lower it now, thank you.”

With a stiff nod you place the mirror on the floor, settling against the wall and watching him from behind the glass that is supposed to protect you from him. It sounds like a ridiculous notion, now, when he looks sober and worried, but just as the thought passes your mind Jake’s pupils blow wide, nearly hiding the milky green completely, and he licks his lips hungrily.

“I’m... I’m hungry, Dirk... I don’t want to get messy again, but I... I can’t...” he mumbles, and you rise from your spot with a slight tremble to your limbs.

“Gotcha. Be right back, dude.” You say, and Jake nods, settling against the door that divides you both with a thump as he tries, and fails, to slow his heavy breathing.

\---

You come back, and Jake’s meat is the same, though different, sliced up in tiny little pieces that he can stuff into his mouth one by one, without having to tear through the mass and tendons like a hungry monster — an idea Roxy came up with to see if Jake could tone down his animalistic instincts during “meal time”, as a way to help him control his urges once and for all in the future. When you slide the bowl through the hole on the bottom of the door, Jake eyes it with slight confusion, since he was obviously expecting the dripping meat wrapped in a cloth, but when he realizes what you’ve done he laughs, once, breathless and a little choked up. You see the physical effort he makes to not dig his palm inside the bloody bowl, to get a handful and shove it in his mouth; instead, he lowers his shaky hand, and one by one he fishes the small cubes of rotten meat between his fingers and pops them into his salivating mouth, chewing slowly. You watch him in silence, the sight a lot more domestic than you’d care to admit.

Afterwards he pushes the bowl back to you, his eyes back to their normal state and his expression relaxed. He licks his bloody fingers as you two talk, and you’re glad to note that he’s not mumbling today; you wonder if Jake’s getting better, if he’s not as depressed, if he’s feeling a slight tinge of hope, like you. After a few hours like that, Jake tells you how happy he is about having the blood off his body, and he asks for his toothbrush “to make it absolutely perfect”, and you bring it to him, along with half a cup of water. He brushes his teeth clumsily and wipes his mouth with the water, spitting it back onto the glass and returning both items to you. You hand him a second glass of water, this one full and cold, and he gulps it greedily along with the sleeping pills. You always give him some along with the pills. His body doesn’t seem to require liquids as much as meat, now, but he said he physically missed drinking, and you knew you couldn’t refuse him this tiny little luxury.

After a few minutes you two are sitting in a comfortable silence, Jake looking off into the distance as you pick into the wall’s lining. Soon the medicine’s effect will kick in, and Jake will be asleep. You’re just making him company until it does.

“I miss kissing you, you know.” He says out of the blue, and the thought makes your chest clench, makes your heart miss a much needed beat. You’ve avoided thinking about that, really. You’ve avoided thinking about Jake’s lips on your own, his hug, his rumbling laughter—

—  Jake’s mouth wide above you, teeth bared like an animal, his body pushing violently against yours as he tried to bite into your flesh, how he teared and ripped the meat off that arm that could’ve very well been yours, and.

You shudder, shaking your head to will the memory away. “Yeah, I... I, yeah. Me too. A lot. Fuck, Jake, I miss you so much.” You mumble, voice low and words choked. You don’t want to cry, you absolutely _cannot_ cry, _fuck_.

“I’m really sad that I wasn’t up, to see Jane, you know? Or to help you guys, when you were helping me. I’m so sorry. I’m so—“

“Jake.” You say, a little louder, and he turns to you, eyes watering. “It’s ok. We’ll figure this shit out, ok? I promise. I promise we will. You know that, right?”

“Y-yeah...” he replies, scrubbing the back of his hand on his watery eyes. “C-can I just, at least... at least touch you again? Just for a little while?”

You hesitate, but agree, and Jake slips his shivering hand through the hole in the floor. You get a hold of it, squeezing his fingers, and he sobs quietly, tears trailing down his face as he squeezes yours right back. Fuck holding back the tears, you think as you breathe out, a choked moan escaping your lips as the first warm droplet escapes your tightly shut lids.

It’s easy to pretend everything’s normal like this, and if you close your eyes and ignore the underlying stench of rotten meat you can almost believe that everything’s as it used to be. You rub your thumb in circular motions over Jake’s skin, and he squeezes your hand tightly, leaning against the glass, forehead and cheek resting exactly where yours are. You whisper words of comfort to him and hope they don’t sound as hollow as they do to your own ears, and just talk to him, reminding him of the good days you’ve spent together until he’s hiccuping loudly, tears flowing relentlessly, until the grip on your knuckles loosen up and he falls asleep like that, crying silently and pressed against you but not really.

You get up, opening the door carefully so he won’t fall painfully against the concrete floor, and carry him on your arms to his sleeping bag, crawling in beside him after a moment of hesitation, the warmth of his body besides you soothing and calming and oh so painful you feel like someone has an iron grip on your heartstrings and is pulling, pulling, punching you until all you feel is _hurt_ and a weight over your chest compresses your ribs, your lungs, and you can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t can’t _can’t—_

The girls find you two hours later, sobbing desperately over his chest, and literally fight with you to force and drag you back to your own bed.

You don’t sleep that day, nor the next. You spend the mornings and evenings hunting zombies, slicing them up and filling broken bowls with the carefully sliced corpses you’ve found, distracting your mind with anything that isn’t you and Jake and how much you goddamn love him, trying your damnedest not to pass out with exhaustion by the time the third consecutive sleepless day comes along.

You fail miserably at both attempts, and don’t feel a thing when your head finally hits the floor.

Instead you welcome darkness willingly, and dream about those heavy rainy days when you had Jake’s lips against your own.


End file.
